


If You Can Hold On, Last Call For Sin

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-19
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:35:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8699200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Dean has a "thing" about Sam's hair.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Title:** If You Can Hold On, Last Call For Sin  
**Author:** [ ](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/profile)[**keepaofthecheez**](http://keepaofthecheez.livejournal.com/)  
**Characters:** Sam/Dean  
**Rating:** NC-17 for language, incest, and m/m sexual content.  
**Word Count:** 1, 402  
**Spoilers:** nah  
**Disclaimer:** Oh, if only.   
**Summary:** Dean has a “thing” about Sam’s hair.  
**Notes:** Special thanks to [ ](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/profile)[**poisontaster**](http://poisontaster.livejournal.com/) & [ ](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/profile)[**merepersiflage**](http://merepersiflage.livejournal.com/) for beta-doings and yelling at me that "DEAN NEEDS TO COME MORE. AND MORE." I love you ladies!  
And also, this is dedicated to my luvah [ ](http://angel-1013.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://angel-1013.livejournal.com/)**angel_1013** because she loves people coming in her hair.  
  
  
  
  
Had Dean possessed any sort of willpower, he definitely wouldn’t have ended up like _this_ –alcohol flavoring his breath, kneeling on a cheap motel mattress with Sam between his legs. Even slumped against the wall and pillows, his baby brother’s head still comes up to nearly chest-level, his mouth easily opening over a rosy nipple and sucking through the thin cotton of Dean’s shirt. Sweat-soaked hair curls around Sam's neck, and Dean shoves all ten fingers into that tousled mass of ragged locks and tugs, panting and looking up at the ceiling before lowering his gaze again.  
  
A little hiss escapes Sam’s throat, and then he’s smiling up at Dean from under the heavy fringe and looking young and mature and impish and solemn, all at once. Dean lets out a curse when Sam’s tongue wets his bottom lip and then he uses big hands to ruck up Dean’s shirt. His belly jumps beneath the press of blunt fingertips, circling and teasing his navel, and he shifts his knees; his pants are tangled around his ankles and hell, he never even saw those crafty hands go for his belt.   
  
He blinks down at Sammy, whose tongue is caught between his teeth as he works Dean’s underwear down his hips with an intensity that rivals what Dean knows is even _possible_ in their drunken state. Those glossy curls catch in the dim lamplight and the first thing he can think is what he blurts out, voice thick and growly. “I wanna fuck your hair.”  
  
It’s nothing new; he’s always been a bit infatuated with the mop on Sam’s head. When they’d been younger his brother had kept his hair neat and trimmed and easy to manage during a hunt. It hadn’t been until Sam had hit his rebellious years against Dad that the close-crop had turned as defiant as Sam’s new attitude. And what Dean had never mentioned, never _would_ , was that both the shag and the ‘tude did a number on him that dozens of fucks with dozens of women couldn’t compare to.  
  
  
The dark strands are cool and silky against his dick, wrapping and curling around the taut flesh but slip-sliding away again before he can get enough of it. He grips two thick handfuls, ignoring the catch of Sam’s breath, and thrusts into his palms with a grateful shudder.  
  
“Jesus, Dean,” he hears his brother mutter, and then there’s the soft press of Sam’s mouth on his inner thigh and Dean lets out a shaky sigh of his own. The sight of Sam on the bed, head bowed and hair spilling in waves across Dean’s cock has his belly clutching and blood pounding in his ears.  
  
“So fuckin’ pretty,” he says hoarsely, gaze avid. Hungry.   
  
“Don’t you wanna put that in my mouth instead?” Sam asks, sounding desperate and drunk and horny as all fuck. “C’mon…” His cheek nuzzles Dean’s dick, the barest hint of stubble scritch-scratching, and then he’s pulling Dean by the hips, closer, licking his lips and looking up from under his lids.  
  
But Dean’s had this obsession for way too fucking long and now there’s nothing really holding him back from fucking Sam – fucking Sam’s _hair_ \- just like he’s always wanted. Even the idea of being sucked off by Sam’s pornographic mouth isn’t enough to change his mind, and that’s saying something.  
  
“Wait. Just…” he has to pause, gather his bearings as thick, wavy softness spills through his fingers again and his vision blurs at the edges. “Jus’ hold on a minute.”  
  
“Dean,” Sam begins on a soft huff, but whatever he planned to say is lost as a smile stretches across his mouth. His teeth sink into his lip and he says knowingly, “Huh. You’ve got a _thing_.”  
  
Dean slows, hips working in small bursts as he inhales and stares down at Sam’s amused expression. “Nuh-uh,” he tries to deny, but for Christ’s sake, he has his _dick_ in Sam’s _hair_ and if that’s not the first sign of a “thing” then he doesn’t know what the hell is.  
  
Sam’s grin is full blown and mischievous now, and Dean grits his teeth and mutters, “Shut up, Sammy” before taking his brother by the head and fucking into that sloppy mess. Again.  
  
“I didn’t say anything.” Sam’s voice is muffled, his shoulders shaking, and Dean growls again and pulls hard enough to leave his brother’s scalp burning. Sam grunts, tries to look up, but Dean has control of the situation and isn’t quite ready to let it go yet.  
  
Or ever.  
  
“Don’t ever cut this shit,” he slurs, licking his lips and angling Sam’s head so he can meet his brother’s heavy-lidded eyes. “You hear me?”  
  
“Jesus Christ,” Sam manages, and his hands slide up and across Dean’s hips, fingers digging in. Something goes blurry in his eyes and Dean feels himself pulled closer. “Just let me suck you, Dean. _Please_.”  
  
It’s the begging that does it. Sam doesn’t _beg_. Not in the normal sense, anyway. He usually gets what he wants from Dean with just a look or a throw-away phrase, and the sound of that word on those lips has him ready to paint it in bitter drops across Sam’s mouth.   
  
“You wanna?” he asks, not because he needs a confirmation – he can see how much Sam wants it – but because he wants to know if Sam’ll say it again.  
  
His brother’s eyes go dark, and Dean isn’t sure if it’s the alcohol or the promise of sex or an intoxicating mixture of both, but Sam chews his lips and nods, features flushed. “Yeah.” His voice is gritty. “Yeah, I do.”  
  
Dean’s teeth flash and he takes himself in hand, thumb passing over the head of his cock as he brings it up to Sam’s mouth. “Well, okay then.” He presses Sam’s bottom lip wide open and shudders when Sam’s tongue curls around him. “God. Yeah.”  
  
Sam’s eyes flash; he sucks gently and Dean knows he’s studying his expression, easily reading and categorizing every grunt and sigh. He brushes the hair back from Sam’s forehead, muttering and gripping him by the head while he fucks his brother’s mouth.  
  
Sam makes a soft sound, cheeks hollowing, and Dean presses deeper. There’s a quiet thud as his head hits the wall above Sam, and he slumps into it, riding Sam’s wet mouth and biting his lip until coppery blood coats his tongue. He’s still holding onto Sam’s hair, petting.   
  
“Gonna make me go bald,” Sam murmurs, licking at the underside of his dick and smoothing Dean’s hips in circular motions. “Ease up some.”  
  
“Suck me harder,” Dean whispers, chokes, and unclenches his fingers a little. A whimper is working its way up, and when Sam takes him back into his throat, it comes out between his teeth.   
  
“Cocksucking slut,” he keens, hands tender as he strokes down and around Sam’s neck. “God, baby…like that.”  
  
As soon as he says it, his face goes hot. Sam freezes, mouth still full of cock, and looks up at him. Dean swallows and wants to play it off, but Sam growls and yanks him forward until his dick is bruising Sam’s throat and all Dean can do is hold on. He wants to be careful, wants to avoid gagging his brother, but when that pulse starts back in his balls, his hips just snap and stutter out of his control and he comes deep in Sam’s throat with a cuss and a shudder. He waits for that inevitable moment where Sam will either push him away and spit or take it down like a man, and with each and every salty splash he groans and waits and fucking prays it’ll be the latter.  
  
Since Sam only ever swallows when he’s drunk or doped up on pain medication, Dean takes a moment to give thanks to the bottle of tequila they’d shared after the hunt as he feels Sam's throat close around him, drink him down.   
  
Moments later, he’s still leaning against the wall as Sam shifts and nuzzles his thigh. “I do not have a _thing_ ,” he grumbles, even as he takes up another handful of Sam’s curls and watches them slip through his fingers.   
  
“Uh-huh.” There’s a mocking laugh in Sam’s agreement.  
  
Dean reaches out to cuff his brother, but instead his fingers slide through the curls again.   
  
“Yeah. No _thing_ at all.” Sam murmurs against his thigh.


End file.
